The Yankee in me took a hit today. It snowed here in middle Tennessee, just enough to call the lemmings out for the bread and milk march. I had a brunch date with a perfectly disrespectful man…just my type…and I was determined not to let a little snow get in the way of possible true love or really good pancakes.
I drove out of my holler to the big curve that never gets any sun. It was really icy and I turned around and came home. I am…officially…a woosie girl.
To reward myself for playing it safe, I cracked open a frozen pizza and ate two Dove bars while I waited for it to bake. I burned the roof of my mouth on some sort of cheese imposter and had to hunt up some Tums for the Dove bar revisit.
I have a fire going in my wood burning stove and some really good port from a winery down in Franklin and thought I might wax poetic about sex…lies…and video tape……..
Sixty-eight year old Mimi Alford decided to write a book about her 18 month affair with JFK. It is her right and privilege to do so…but I don’t think anyone really cares. The scandal that it would have been back in the sixties doesn’t exist now, unless she has a sex tape to hawk with it.
I’m calling you out, sister. I’ve read your explanation as to why you wrote it, and it still sounds to me like you aren’t clear as to whether you should be apologizing, accusing, or asking for forgiveness…and no one is left gasping in disbelief. You’re too late…we’ve been sexed out, Mims…the morality of 2012 doesn’t care to consider the morality of 1960…it does not compute…unless you have some sexts or a sex tape, it will be a hard sell.
JFK was a womanizer and it was understood and accepted and dealt with the way all things untoward were back then…behind closed doors and whispered in ears. It was private…period. His value as a world leader surpassed his peccadilloes and he was accommodated and protected…there was honor among thieves. Of course, if he’d had a sex tape…well…we’d be talking millions.
Countries, civilizations even, have been toppled over sexual shenanigans…this is nothing new. Sex as a release is control and control is power…and the worm turns.
I believe that Clinton could have short-sheeted his whole impeachment if he had just fessed up and admitted that he had an inappropriate relationship with another woman outside of his marriage. Instead he chose a ridiculous defense, so offensive in nature that he made a fool out of his wife and every other woman in this country.
Putting any part of anything naked anywhere in anyone is sexual…and his redefinition of what sexual relations are would have given George Carlin material for a whole new act.
I’ve listened, bemused, when the argument is made that it doesn’t matter what politicians or leaders do behind closed doors. Only a cheater would make that argument. I’ve been on both sides of that bed, so I know the rhetoric.
Picture someone running on the campaign promise: “I love my wife/husband and my children 98% of the time…the other 2% is my private business. I’m under stress and need the release.”
It still remains the ultimate betrayal, though these days, it almost seems a rite of passage. That it was so silently tolerated, once upon a time, had more to do with honor and pride and trust. Hush money didn’t have as many zeroes in front of the decimal point like it does now.
All due respect to Ms. Alford, I can’t see any good coming from this tome, other than monetary. She seems to want to clear her name, and if this makes her feel better about herself, then I guess she’s doing what she needs to do. Her story goes from squeamish to whimsical as she describes racing ducks in the bathtub with the head of the free world. I’m just trying to figure out what she else she has to say that would take up an entire book…unless she has drawings of Johnny’s privates…and a sex tape…
I can’t help but feel it is at the expense of the family left behind in the Kennedy riptide. They’ve already paid a high enough price. Enough already.
Archie Bunker once campaigned that the airways would be safer if all passengers carried a rod.
In the same spirit…let’s make it mandatory for all of us to do a sex tape. They could be protected with a copyright and officially documented. We could choose from three settings: Tropical bliss…winter wonderland…or rainy daze at the cabin. It could start a whole new industry…make-up, hair, director of photography, props…little mini-movies.
I’ve got dibs on whoever does Oprah’s lighting for mine. Of course, with the men in my age range…we’d have to come back another day for take two…
Day three hundred and six…enjoying my port in a sex storm…